


Counting Stars

by doesitreallyaccount



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic Jake English, Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, POV Second Person, SBURB, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6989809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doesitreallyaccount/pseuds/doesitreallyaccount
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is everywhere from the day you're born.  Its in every song and every story and all around you.  So you should feel it.  You do feel it.  Don't you? </p><p>Jake English just wants to count the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Stars

This is love. Of that, you’re certain.

Sure, it’s not how you imagined it, but it’s there. Even you can see it; present in every step you take together. Every stilted conversation. Every pause. Love is awkward; how could it not be? People tell you that.

Grandma once told you that love is always being there for someone. It’s spending endless days thinking about them. Love is knowing the ins and outs of a person and still wanting to be there. 

You tell yourself you feel these things for Dirk. He is your best friend, after all; how could you not love him? You can’t really name the reasons, but you’re sure they’ll come with time. He’s there for you and he loves you and you think of him an awful lot. You think that falls under love.

And you squish down the voice in the back of your mind. The one that reminds you that you feel this for _all_ your friends. Because this is _love_. You know he loves you more than others, so it must be different. 

Who else would build you a robot? Who else would sacrifice everything he has for you, asking nothing in return. He wants you to be stronger; he knows that’s important. He wants to help you. Everything he does, he does for you. 

He tells you that he loves you in the ways that he can. You understand his language. He’s done the math. With the way he acts, it’s clear he thinks his plan is perfect. He knows there’s only time between you. You’re sure if you asked he’d tell you everything. It’s all down to a science in his mind, he just needs your answer, and it’s about time you give it. You want to love him like he loves you. He deserves it.

It’s just give and take. That’s what love is supposed to be. Everyone tells you that.

He makes it clear that he loves you. He tells you that you’re important; that you belong with him; that you belong together. He tells you that everything works out. He tells you that he could make you happy. That that’s what you need.

When he asks you out things seem to fall into place. You’re where you’re supposed to be; he makes sure you know that. And whatever doubts you had are cast to the back of your mind, because this is how it’s supposed to happen. Sure, maybe you always fancied seeing yourself alongside a pretty girl; but this works too. Maybe he’s your knight in shining armor. Maybe you’ve been wrong about what you thought. You’ve been wrong before.

Because it’s him, and this is love, and surely there can be nothing wrong with love. 

Roxy tells you that love is like waves crashing in your stomach. She tells you that love is butterflies in your heart and a tingling in your fingertips that just won’t quit. She says it creeps up slowly, but once it’s there, you know. She says it doesn’t stop. She says it feels like stars.

You tell yourself you feel it.

But love isn’t everything you expect it to be. The waves don’t crash in your stomach; they crash in your heart. And the butterflies seem to be swarming your head. They make it hard to concentrate. They make it hard to breathe. You tell yourself that Roxy must have been wrong. She can’t know love; because this is love. This is the most you’ve ever felt.

You feel the tingling in your fingertips. 

You think that the warmth growing in the pit of your stomach must be love. That love to you is holding his hand on an adventure. You tell yourself it’s for more than just stability. You tell yourself that you like the way he looks at you. You like the way your hands shake at the thought of forever with him. You hope it’s the truth.

Dirk kisses you for the first time under the green gas clouds of your planet. It feels soft and nice and it’s everything you would want from a kiss. It’s not exactly how you imagined. But you also imagined that your heart would stop and the heavens would open up and everything would suddenly become clear. You imagined stars. 

You don’t see stars.

But who needs all that anyway? Maybe everyone was overreacting when they described it. You remind yourself that not everything you read on the internet is true. You remind yourself that you love him, and there doesn’t need to be magic to make that real.

You open your eyes, and it’s clear he saw stars.

You see the way he looks at you, and you hope to god he sees a reflection. 

You hope he see’s that you’re trying. 

Love begins to tear a hole in your skull. The butterflies are leaking out and there’s nothing you can do to keep them in. You try to patch the holes with what you have. You spend time with him. You adventure. You wait. The butterflies won’t stop beating at your ears. They don’t want to be in your brain, that’s clear. 

You’re not sure if you want to be in there either. 

Dirk doesn’t look at you like he did. He still loves you, he wants this to work, he tells you that every day. But you aren’t sure how much to believe. There’s something hardening in the crevices of his face. But maybe they were always hard? You don’t think you ever really took the time to look. 

He doesn’t take his glasses off with you. He shouldn’t need to, he says, you should know. You don’t know. 

Did you ever know?

Jane tells you that love is hope and happiness. Her answers are chopped and short with you, but she gives them nonetheless. She says that love is feeling that even though who you love might be an idiot, they’re still perfect with every flaw. She tells you love is great and perfect and splendid and good. She tells you it sucks.

You tell her you hope not. 

She ends the conversation.

That seems to be how things are going for you lately. 

You don’t know which happened first; if he stopped calling, or if you stopped answering. All you know is you’re alone. He still texts you daily. You wake up to a pesterchum filled with orange. You want to say that you read it. You want to say that it makes your heart swell and it gives you hope. But it doesn’t.

It feels like the waves in your heart are finally crashing against the jagged, rocky shore. You begin to realize that the tingling in your fingertips is from nervousness. The butterflies are gone. 

You don’t want to ruin it, but you don’t know how to stop. Each move you make is the wrong step and every turn sends you spiraling away from him. He wants more than you can give. He wants you to be happy with this. You don’t know if you can be anymore. You don’t know if you ever were. 

Texts turn into text, singular. It’s always the same. 

_Please just talk to me_

You don’t know what to say. You want to tell him you love him, but you’re beginning to think that Roxy wasn’t wrong about love; you were. 

You ask Dirk what love is to him.

It takes him days to reply. The waves become sharper with each crashing hour. They cut into your heart like shards. They begin to feel like glass. They begin to feel like bullets. You worry that if another moment passes your heart might burst and spill over the floor. 

_Not this_. 

His reply is sharp, and it’s orange, and it stings in all the places it’s meant to. 

You want to be upset, but instead you just feel hollow. You hope that what you feel is heartbreak but you’re not sure. It shouldn’t feel like a weight has been lifted. It shouldn’t feel like you can finally breathe. 

You wonder if the sadness you feel is from losing him, or from disappointing him. You know the answer. 

You want to fix this. It’s your fault. How could it be his, when it’s _your_ stupid butterflies that couldn’t find your stomach, so they landed in your head. You want to tell him what’s been gripping your throat and squeezing. You want him to understand.

You want to say that he made you feel the most. But your most would never be his everything. That what you feel in your heart can never match up to his because what you feel in your heart is broken. Your love is wrong, and despite how much you try you just can’t _fix it_. You want to tell him you can’t see the stars and you can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t give you them or if they just don’t exist for you. 

Instead you ask him if you’re still friends.

He tells you he doesn’t know.

You wanted stars. But instead you lost the sky. 

Maybe you were never certain.

**Author's Note:**

> Aromantic Jake is really important to me.


End file.
